Snow
by reibish
Summary: There's a blizzard upon the Labyrinth. Beta'ed, IP. Act I complete!
1. I i

_Disclaimer: I don't own. I just play nice and put them away, just as I found them. _

I.i

Winters in the Underground occurred much like an Aboveground thunderstorm. They arrived; they left. Some stretched for days, and others just a mere hour or two. There were no seasons, just random weather changes--the Labyrinth's soul crying out in sorrow or raining tears of joy.

Despite mild temperatures and often gentle snowfall, the inhabitants of the Goblin City harbored a strong dislike for the winters. A preceding silence and stiff wind would be just enough to empty the streets and fill their homes. Sometimes, a storm's fierce strength and brief existence made it seem that the accumulated snow oozed out of corners and crevices and out of the ground, instead of falling from the sky.

The only person that dared venture out during these winters was the Goblin King himself. Standing atop a tower, or meandering out into his private gardens, he would watch the snow, the flurries spin together, dancing to a worldly tune, unheard by the King. He was sure, by his own memory, which song they danced to. The flakes swirled and entwined, and as he observed, he could just barely see the shapes of long, flowing gowns, and the sharp, macabre masks which concealed the faces of the entities behind them. The wind laughed in his ears and carried traces of her scent.

But no matter how imaginative he was, or how well-choregraphed the snowflakes fell, Jareth could never quite find her in the swirling snowfall.

Winters came more frequently in the goblin kingdom since Sarah's defeat of the Labyrinth.


	2. I ii

I.ii 

Her studio apartment was nearly bare. No posters hung on the old white walls. She didn't even possess a proper bed--a ruddy futon laid over a broken frame. Tucked into a corner was a small dresser, but it was empty of clothing. Half-empty boxes filled the small closet, and few items hung on the coathangers. A cheap stereo rested on the floor next to her bed. The tiny space was uncluttered, but one could sense an almost-imperceptible layer of grime, a remnant of centuries past, rather than a dirty living space.

Dorian's panting and Sarah's half-hearted moaning couldn't silence the ominous creaks of the shaky bedframe. He thrusted harder and faster, and finally came. Sarah tried to suppress her relief as Dorian relaxed and they separated. After a moment, his large hand reached out from the covers and grabbed his jeans. He dug around in a pocket, fishing out a handful of cash.

From the futon, Sarah watched Dorian, moving only her eyes. He slowly and deliberately slid the money between her breasts, then cupped one, thumbing her nipple. Sarah did not break her stare, using every ounce of her minuscule self-control to not swat his hand away. Dorian gazed at her, sparks of amusement dancing in his cold gray eyes.

She would never admit it, but there was something in his gaze that told her _he knew, he knew everything_. There was more than his eyes, of course--from the pose of his jaw, to the ripple of his slender body, even the way his auburn hair curled--Sarah could_ smell _the Underground in him.

Of course, if she knew about Dorian, then he would know about her, and why hadn't he said anything yet? Or just taken her back?

It had to be a figment of her imagination.

Sarah clutched the money in her hand and rolled away from Dorian. Beside her bed was a small tin container, no larger than the palm of her hand. The sides were purple, and two peaches adorned the lid. She was struck by a mixed pang of guilt and need as she pried it open. Suddenly frustrated, she angrily crammed the cash in with the rest of the contents: a plastic bag, a short metal pipe, and a lighter.

"Don't bother," Dorian said, and Sarah felt something land on her back. She didn't have to look at it to know what it was. She closed her eyes and clenched her jaw, fighting the urge. She could already feel the cocaine in her bloodstream, lightening her consciousness, releasing her, letting her return to the Underground.

It wasn't an escape, she told herself every time she lit up. Never an escape. It was a reminder. Something to keep her connected, to remember the feeling--that peach, the ballroom, his hand on her back and all the perfumes and hormones invading her senses...it was the closest she could get.

_If only it were real._


	3. I iii

I.iii 

_Things have been going well since my mother's unfortunate expiration. I had come to the Aboveground searching for a bride--the Undergroundlings steer clear of me. I never expected to find Sarah, the very same who conquered the Labyrinth. She's quite in shambles, but it is much to my advantage. She has taken to selling her body, often for more than money._

_The Aboveground poison in her body does not alter her power, only weakens her mind. It is the perfect opportunity, one which I cannot let slip. Despite her condition, though, I must be patient for a little longer, and use my time well. Sarah is almost lost far enough within herself that her taking will be effortless. I feel she is near that point in her substance use, but not quite yet. She would still fight me if I were to take her now. Legend always said she was incredibly headstrong and determined. Smart, also, but I fail to see her intelligence, considering the mess she is in presently._

_In the meantime, I will enjoy the pleasures that an Aboveground drug dealer and pimp is afforded by his whores._

_--Dorian, Prince of Morin_


	4. I iv

I.iv 

The next morning, the Goblin King awoke with nervousness, fully aware the storm was still raging even before he'd opened his eyes.

He stood in his throne room, watching the storm thoughtfully, listening. The wind outside no longer gusted, slamming against the castle walls. It howled instead, streaking through every open crevice and corner in the kingdom. The flakes did not fall from the sky; they threw themselves at the ground. The accumulation was unprecedented in the goblin kingdom, seen only in the Aboveground. The temperature had dropped below even that what was practical for the conditions. Zero humidity and ice-cold frigidity left the entire atmosphere charged with a roaring, uncontrollable electricity.

Jareth heard the cries of agony in the wind, screaming her name. He could taste the anxiety in the air and sensed the fear falling like dead weight from the swollen, heavy clouds. The Labyrinth was beside itself in distress.

Something was terribly wrong.


	5. I v

I.v

The house was cold. Sarah inched along the dark hallways, gripping the jagged holes in the walls, unsure of her direction. Bitter drafts of air jetted around her, kicking the back of her knees, shoving her shoulders forward. She inhaled--her lungs struggled and rattled. She exhaled, and her eyelids drooped. She was crashing.

Sarah didn't even realize she had been leaning against the wall, even after she stumbled through a doorway, cushioned by a pile of garbage. A foul odor clouded around her, and the small part of her mind that was coming down from the high knew it wasn't the refuse. When was the last time she showered? She couldn't recall.

The small room, colder than the hallway, was empty. The dim streetlight through the broken window on the opposite wall was the only light source. Stains painted the few walls that weren't already rotting or demolished, and the floor creaked dangerously without provocation.

Sarah's empty stomach churned with each shaky reach of her arm as she clawed her way to the darkest corner. She wanted the darkness, a shield between her and this horrible place. Why was she here again? She dug into her pocket, retrieving a small plastic bag that held a rock of cocaine.

Ah, Dorian.


	6. I vi

I.vi 

_Dearest Cousin Jareth,_

Thank you for your sympathy in our family's time of need. It is unfortunate you could not attend my mother's services, I assume you are unaccustomed to the peculiar weather plaguing your kingdom as of late.

_My circumstances are soon to change. I have found a bride to claim the throne with me. She is an Aboveground girl, and seems to be well known in your parts. She is truly a delight, I can assure you. Due to time constraints, we will not hold a public ceremony, but you are welcome to meet her as soon as your weather clears.  
_

_--Dorian_


	7. I vii

I.vii

Staring at the drug in her hand, Sarah tried to focus on it. It was the rock Dorian gave her. There wasn't much difference from one to the next, just little yellow chunks that filled her pipe. They were all poisoned peaches offered by deceiving dwarves to her, taking her to the same place.

Sirens wailed in the background. She needed to hurry.

Sarah reached under her shirt, into the cup of her ratty bra, for her pipe and lighter. She tried to ignore how loose her skin felt, or that her breasts sagged, despite the support. With unsteady hands, she crammed the rock into the end of the pipe and lit it.

The high was almost instant, unusual even for her drug of choice. She felt as though she were watching a film. A montage of images flooded her view, and she was unable to slow them down or step inside and participate. She saw faces she knew and heard voices that made her smile, relived memories that never happened except in her own imagination.

The irony was not lost on Sarah, and a smile floated to her face. Here she was, lying on the floor in a crack house, and the life flashing before her own eyes wasn't even her own. It was all she'd ever wanted≈a complete hallucination. For the first time in many years, she felt content.

The room suddenly darkened in all four corners, beyond her own. It broke Sarah's reverie, though she could still see the fictional filmstrip in her mind.

The house rumbled as police stormed in, a cacophony of shouted demands and gunfire. Blue and red lights from the emergency vehicles outside blinked on the walls. The contrast of colors reminded Sarah of his mismatched eyes. She wondered if death or the police would find her first.

The darkness shifted, rolling and billowing with the wind gusting through the room. Sarah heard fabric flapping violently in the gusts, at first confusing it with law enforcement running in the dilapidated structure, until the door slammed shut of its own volition. Then he appeared.

The Goblin King stood before her, expressionless and unreadable, his cape cloaking him almost entirely. Sarah saw him for only a second.

The filmstrip of make-believe memories suddenly doubled in speed, blurring into unnatural colors and chopping the voices into butchered fragments. It made her dizzy, and a wave of calming, warm vibrations coursed through her body. She felt _wonderful_.

Jareth knelt next to her. Sarah was vaguely aware of his hand touching her face. She supposed he could have been trying to tell her something, but she was unable to focus her attention on him. Finally--her reunion with the King, whether real or imagined, and all she could do was ride the high she reached in order to achieve it.

Sarah threw her head back and laughed, only a moment before being enveloped in darkness.


	8. Intermission

Halt! It is I, Sir Didymus, Protector of the Bog of Eternal Stench! None shall pass! King's orders!

I am quite aware that this is not the Bog of Eternal Stench, my fellow citizen. The King has chosen me to stand guard of a far fairer charge, until further notified, or the Bog thaws.

Sarah? How do you know of her? Who art thou? I demand you answer me at once!

A friend of Sarah's, you say? I am known for my sharp mind, friend, I am not easily fooled...

You're from the _Aboveground_? Oh my.

I still have my duty to protect her, you see. I can say nothing more than that she has a challenging task before her.

For now, let us allow the fair lady to rest.


End file.
